


35/3500 Fic Fest - "Anything they dread?"

by berlynn_wohl



Series: The 35/3500 Fic Fest [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Euthanasia, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has to make the toughest decision of all for one of his dogs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	35/3500 Fic Fest - "Anything they dread?"

**Author's Note:**

> In the spring of 2016, I reached 3500 followers on Tumblr. And if that wasn’t a big enough thrill, I’m about to turn 35. Yikes! I decided to celebrate both of these things by writing 35 fics for my loyal readers. I mined lists of Ask Box memes from sendmesomenumbers.tumblr.com to use as prompts for each fic. 
> 
> Fics of over 1000 words (like this one!) are each posted separately on AO3; all the Hannistag fics are grouped in a single collection, and everything else under 1000 words I grouped into a second collection. Check out my series “The 35/3500 Fic Fest” to read all of them!

Hannibal was drying wine glasses in front of the kitchen sink when Will stalked into the kitchen, brushed past him to grab a roll of paper towels, and stormed back out. He said nothing, but each breath was a tight-lipped sigh through his nose. Hannibal waited for Will to decide that he should turn around and explain why he was behaving this way, but Will did not do this, and so at last, Hannibal set down the glass and hand towel and followed Will to see what the matter was.

He found Will on his hands and knees in the mudroom, using the paper towels to mop up a puddle of dog urine. Next to him, Flynn, the elderly and nearly-blind Irish Setter, was slumped and looking ashamed.

“It’s fine, it’s not on the carpet,” Will said, though he did not sound like things were fine at all. He got up and tossed the wadded-up paper towels into the trash bin, then turned back to regard Flynn, with pity, not with anger.

“That’s the third time in a week,” Hannibal said.

“It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to him.” Hannibal gave Will a dubious look, to which he replied, indignant, “I can tell when he has to go. I just got busy with working on the boat…”

“You know,” Hannibal said, “if he could walk, he could have come and pestered me, so I would know to open the door for him.”

“He can still walk a little bit,” Will reasoned. “He just needs help.” Will seemed to know, however, that what he was saying sounded bad. But instead of admitting this, he doubled down: “Look, he still eats his food, and started going just fine again since we’ve been giving him that medicine.”

“Except when he goes on the floor.” Hannibal frowned. “Will, come here and sit down.”

Hannibal took Will into the living room, and sat him on the couch. He held Will’s hand in both of his own and said gently, “You know that Flynn is not enjoying a high quality of life. Even with the medicine. That has only allowed us to prolong his poor quality of life, not improve it. Tell me honestly, Will: are you extending his life for him, or for yourself?”

Will had known this was coming. He’d known weeks ago that Hannibal felt this way, and had been grateful for every day that he had chosen not to say anything. Will’s eyes glistened with tears, and when he nodded to acknowledge that Hannibal was right, several splashed onto on Hannibal’s hand. “I know,” Will sobbed. “I know that I should know better. I just don’t want to let him go.”

Hannibal put his arms around Will, allowing Will to cry, hard and with much shaking, against his shoulder. Will wasn’t like this about anything else, but he was always like this when it came to the dogs. “I understand that you feel that way,” Hannibal said, “but it is more important now than it ever has been to put Flynn’s best interest above your own. You told me once why you love dogs so much. Tell me again.”

“Because they have so much joy in them,” Will sniffled.

“But Flynn has lost all the joy of being a dog. He is suffering, and he needs you to make the decision to alleviate that suffering.”

Will rubbed his face against Hannibal’s shoulder, both to wipe his tears and to shake his head _No_.

Hannibal was not going to accept his reluctance. “Let’s let the rest of the pack spend a little more time with him. Then we’ll take care of it after that. Okay?”

Will continued to shake his head _No_ as he clutched Hannibal’s sleeves. Hannibal ignored it. “Alright then. Why don’t you go get the others.”

Hannibal let Will go, so that Will could do this. And he did it, reluctantly. He got to his feet and went back into the mudroom, where Flynn had dragged himself to the water dish for a drink. He whistled for the other dogs, who came running in.

Jojo and Flynn were the oldest members of the pack, and got along the best out of any of them. She was still in good health, and nosed at Flynn, then loped a short distance, then looked back, hoping that he would give chase, and was disappointed when he did not. Sluggo, the smallest among them, jumped on Flynn and mouthed at his ears like always. Flynn rolled a little bit, as he used to do, letting Sluggo pretend to be dominant. But he couldn’t get all the way onto his back anymore. Rugrat, always the most sensitive and perceptive of the pack, just nosed at her friend and whined, licking his face to try to get him to stand up.

Will watched all this with sorrow and dismay. After several minutes, he said, “Enough.” He herded the rest of the pack outside and shut the door. Hannibal excused himself for a moment, went into the study to retrieve an ancient leather bag. He met Will in the mudroom, and gestured with the bag toward the living room. “Take a few minutes alone with him if you like, and then why don’t you bring him in here,” he suggested.

Flynn had lost a lot of weight in the last few months, but he still weighed fifty pounds, and Will grunted with the effort every time he lifted him. He carried Flynn over to the couch, where Hannibal was already sitting, sticking a syringe into a bottle of Propofol. Will sat next to him, Flynn in his lap, limbs spilling over Will’s legs even though he was curled up.

“I love you so much, buddy,” Will said, holding Flynn tight and rocking the dog in his lap with his cheek pressed against Flynn’s neck. Flynn lifted his head, and Will pulled back to look into his cloudy eyes, still so full of trust and a dog’s unconditional love. Will told him, “I’m gonna remember you forever, okay? Okay, buddy? And Jojo and Sluggo and Rugrat are gonna remember you, too.” He hugged Flynn again, for a long time, until he was cried out, and Hannibal laid a hand softly on his shoulder. At last, his voice cracking, Will whispered, “Goodbye.”

Hannibal patted Flynn’s shoulder perfunctorily before giving him the injection. Flynn whined piteously when he felt the needle, and this brought fresh tears to Will’s eyes. But he stroked Flynn’s head softly and murmured to him. Moments later, Flynn relaxed in his arms as he drifted into unconsciousness.

It was at this time that Hannibal made the second injection, an overdose of barbiturates to stop Flynn’s heart. In thirty seconds, it was all over, just a little gasp as Flynn’s tired body exhaled for the last time.

“You were the last thing that Flynn saw, and the last thing he felt,” Hannibal said, squeezing Will’s arm to reassure him that he had made the right decision. “He deserved no less than that. He is safe and free of pain now.”

Will nodded, his head bowed and his eyes closed, still rocking Flynn slightly.

“Would you like to come with me to find a spot in the field to bury him? Or I can get started on that if you would like a little more time.”

“Let me get his blanket,” Will said. “We’ll put him in his blanket.” 

They rose together, but Will went to the front of the house while Hannibal went to the back. Hannibal grabbed the shovel from the garage before passing through the laundry room and out into the field behind the house. He was well into digging Flynn’s grave when Will finally arrived, with Flynn bundled up in his pawprint-patterned blanket. When the hole was big enough, Will laid him down inside, straightened the blanket one last time around him, then stood by and watched while Hannibal covered the grave. Once the last clod of dirt had been patted down, Hannibal gave Will a minute of respectful silence, then looked at his watch. It would be time to start dinner soon.

“What was the best thing about Flynn?” he asked Will, as they walked back to the house.

Hannibal thought that Will might need some time to think of how to answer this question, but almost instantly, Will replied, “Definitely it was when I would take the dogs to the river with me, and he would chase bugs. It was so funny to watch. He would pounce on a dragonfly or something, and then whip his head around when it flew away from him, trying to follow it, and that always made me laugh. And he would leap up in the air, trying to catch the bug again...”

Hannibal watched his face as he talked. For the first time that day, he saw Will smile.


End file.
